The Same Deep Waters
by R. Scott
Summary: She was irritating, neurotic, young and she thought she had her whole life ahead of her; all the things he detested. Yet she was sitting here in the same position as himself, sipping miserably at scotch, so what did that tell him? Elliot Reid/Perry Cox


A/N: Was going to be short, but has turned into a rather lengthy one shot. And I have no idea where the hell it came from! Nevertheless, hope you enjoy. Finally starting to get into a fic-writing mood after a long period of work/school related stress, so you should be seeing more from me soon. I hope ;o)

Ruby :o)

* * *

He stared down, his eyes heavy with tiredness, his whole being seeping with heavy, familiar misery; the kind of misery that can only be helped by alcohol, and even then that sometimes makes it worse. 

At this point, he often felt like he was actually witnessing someones soul leaving their body. He didn't even believe in that kind of thing, but that's what it felt like. The life being sucked out of someone before his very eyes, when it was his job to stop that very thing from happening…it left a cold chill in the air, making him feel like death was wrapping it's skeletal fingers around his own throat.

Of course, that was all absurd. The heat of the moment soon passed, and instead of that somewhat hellish feeling in his gut, he was left only with the presence of a corpse on the bed before him. Moonlight was seeping through the blinds casting eerie shadows on the dead, and he stared long and hard at her for a moment.

Her. Not anymore.

_It_.

His breathing heavy, he tore his eyes away from the body and looked at Dr. Reid.

"Call it." He said quietly, desperate to finish his shift and drink, completely and utterly miserable after a _shit_ day which had just got a whole lot worse.

She looked about as depressed as he felt, if not more so. She also had a look of near fascination on her face, as if she wasn't quite able to believe what was happening. Her eyes were wide and shining, maybe with tears, or maybe she was just tired. She'd been glancing at him throughout this whole sorry mess, for what reason he had no idea, but as soon as he caught her eye she abruptly looked away, blushing.

She was quiet.

"Barbie." He said, quietly but firmly. "Call it."

This got her attention, and she thankfully snapped out of whatever daze she was in. Slightly flustered, she stared at him before glancing up at the clock.

"Time of death…12:13." She sighed. She was certainly tired, and he became concerned when, instead of preparing to leave, she resumed her earlier slouching position and continued to stare at the body, an anxious expression on her face. She looked more vulnerable than normal, standing there in the silvery light, her blue scrubs stained with spots of black blood. It was in these moments he seriously doubted her ability to make it in this world. Just another intern doomed to fall flat before even attempting to fly.

He considered just leaving her there, and was about to do so, when she suddenly spoke.

"Who should tell the daughter?"

He let out a long frustrated sigh, not wanting to go into this yet.

"Well, seeing as you've obviously made such an emotional _investment_ in this one, Barbie, why don't you go ahead? Because I've finished a nineteen hour shift and am just about ready to drop dead myself."

"That's not funny." She muttered, and looked away from the body in order to glare at him.

"Oh and here I thought we were on Saturday Night Live- oh but wait, that's not funny either!" he said, grinning manically for a moment before slowly allowing his face to return to it's original dark expression.

She simply sighed and raised her eyebrows slightly, as if she expected nothing less from him.

"S'Get out of here." He said, gesturing towards the door. "Call the kid tomorrow."

"Kid…" she said, frowning. "She's no kid, she's my age."

"Well there you go- I'm sure you two can have an captivating discussion about Ashton Kutcher over a latte tomorrow. But now…" he let out a sigh, and looked at her sternly.

"Go home."

She moved her mouth as if about to speak, but somehow couldn't seem to find the words. Ignoring his snide comment, she simply nodded and peeled the thin, clinical gloves from her skinny hands and threw them down. She ran a shaking hand through her straw like hair, before letting out a long, tired breath.

"Want a drink?" she asked.

This shocked him, both in the fact that she had somehow read his mind (although to be honest, he almost always wanted a drink) and the fact that it was _Elliot Reid _who had said it. A comment so unlike her to make.

He frowned skeptically at her, before smirking cruelly.

"Not with you sweetheart." He said, his voice deadpan. He removed his own gloves and caught her eye, which was staring at him with a strange glimmer. Some foolish, ignorant little girl who though she could hack it with the big boys... he almost voiced this thought aloud, but decided against it, noticing that she had clearly gone through some sort of turmoil tonight. Uncharacteristically, he decided not to torment her further.

"See you tomorrow, Barbie." He said with finality, before finally striding out of the room, reveling in the fact that he was able to leave this place, if only for a few hours.

Elliot remained there for a few more minutes, staring blankly into the darkness, before doing the same.

* * *

The bar was a tiny, dark little place, in the very belly of the city. And it was near empty, which he was thankful for, his only company the scratchy jukebox and the occasional clack of cue-hitting-ball at the pool table. He sipped on his own brand of poison slowly and carefully, his fifth glass, wanting it to last forever because he had to return to work as soon as the sun rose, if not sooner. If it was up to him, he would wallow in this moment for an eternity.

A few random images fluttered through his head, a first indication of his drunkenness. He thought of Jordan, for some bizarre reason, seeing as he hadn't seen her in well over a year. He briefly wondered what she was doing, if she was at all happy, before remembering that he shouldn't care whether she was happy or not; all the pain their apparently doomed relationship had caused, leaving a void between the two of them, seemingly forever. He remembered how much he hated her.

He wondered if he was still in love with her.

Then, expectedly, his thoughts wandered to the hospital. He thought of the lives he'd managed to keep clinging on today. He thought of the patients that he had not hope of saving. He thought of the lives he'd lost in the endless fight that he often thought of giving up on.

Same old.

Newbie then took this opportunity to appear in his thoughts, annoyingly. As if he didn't have to put up with him on a daily basis anyway…it occurred to him then, Newbie had done a better job than himself today. Not that he'd ever let him know it. The kid was a pain in the ass but he could be a God damn hero if need be.

He had…potential. That was it. Stick the kid on the right path, then he could be a hero. Then he could save lives and lose lives and not get tangled up in an emotional web, consisting of sobbing relatives on his conscience and a lost soul hovering near by.

You win some, you lose some.

He sipped on his drink again, before glancing at the door as someone pushed it open.

"Holy shit…" he muttered quietly, making no move to stand but his eyes widening with shock.

Elliot was stood there, soaked from the rain, her face distraught. She hadn't noticed him yet, and quickly she sat down at the nearest stool, slouched and staring firmly down at the glossy, wooden surface of the bar.

He wondered briefly if she had followed him here, this place being so out of reach from her life style, before studying her more closely, she was either avoiding him, or unaware of his presence at all.

"Whatta ya want, toots?" the sluggish barman asked her.

He expected her to flee at the presence of this apparent monster (to her at least) but she didn't even flinch.

"Scotch." She murmured, clasping her hands on the bar as if she had done this exact act every night for the last 15 years, which obviously couldn't be true.

She looked ridiculously out of place, and when he looked around, he noticed that they were the only two people left in here, save for the barman. Her hair was scruffily tied in a braid, and she had obviously changed out of her scrubs in a hurry, dressed in plain jeans and a t-shirt; she hadn't removed her black coat. No make-up, only a pale face and red, raw eyes.

"Here ya go." The barman said, slamming down the glass in front of her.

"Thanks." She said, immediately throwing it back with an almost violent determination. He was mildly impressed that she didn't cough or splutter- apparently, she could handle her liquor.

Placing the glass back on the bar, she let out a deep, long sigh, laced in sadness, which to his ears would normally sound profoundly pathetic. But, in this case, he found himself feeling sorry for her, and he blamed this on the drink.

"Easy there sweetheart." He said. "Don't wanna make a habit outta it."

Now she looked startled. He could see an almost fearful expression in her wide eyes when she finally saw him sitting there, only a few feet from her.

Her elbows on the bar, her head fell into her palms, out of embarrassment he presumed. Hurrying, she dug around in her purse for some cash, fumbling, now desperate to leave.

"Hey, don't leave on my account Kiddo." He said, sipping on his own drink. "What in God's name are you doing here anyway?"

She slowed her actions, before closing her bag and sighing again.

"Felt like a drink." She said simply, not looking at him.

"You come here a lot then?" he asked sarcastically, smirking.

"No. Just had a bad day."

"Well hell, I've had a bad _year_ Blondie. One day doesn't drive you away from one hell hole straight into another."

She made a funny half smile, apparently meaning- _That's what YOU think._

He must have been pretty drunk because he had no idea why the hell he was interested in her story all of a sudden. Normally he would have spotted her and immediately left, without hesitation, but now he was suddenly eager to know what she had to say. She was irritating, neurotic, young and thought she had her whole life ahead of her…all the things he detested.

Yet she was sitting here in the same position as himself, sipping miserably at scotch, so what did that tell him?

Not enough, apparently.

"What happened?" he found himself saying.

She looked at him then, frowning.

"Why do_ you_ care?"

He scoffed, trying to think of something witty to say but, for once, coming up short.

"I_ don't_." he said, sipping at his drink again because he had nothing else to do. She was still staring at him which made him feel uncomfortable.

"You gonna tell me or what?" he decided to say, staring straight back, and knowing that she would tell him if he asked it of her, because she would do anything and everything to please him.

This fact_ did_ please him in a twisted sort of way, and he could tell she was reluctant to speak.

"I just…" she began, eyes darting about nervously. "I mean…Mrs. Goodman? She just…died today. We both saw it happen. We couldn't do anything to stop it and that's supposed to be our job…"

He could tell where she was going with this, and he sighed dramatically, now wishing he hadn't entered into this conversation.

"You win some and you lose some." He said bluntly, for what felt like the millionth time "Get over it."

"No…that's not what I mean." She said, her voice quiet. "I spoke to her daughter. After you left, I called her in."

"How'd she take it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"That's the thing." Elliot said, sounding almost baffled, her eyes starting to tear up. "I told her. I told her that her _mother had just died. _And…and she didn't even _care_."

He was about to say something rude, but for some reason unknown to him, decided against it, just continued to stare at her, observing her. She had beautiful eyes, he found himself thinking suddenly.

"She just…shrugged. Like I'd told her the ABC Summer schedule. She just stared at me, nodded, muttered a few things. I told her all the basic things, you know, how we couldn't have done anything, how we tried our best. She just…continued to nod. No tears, no sobs. Nothing. And she left."

"Well we all take it differently, Barbie." He sighed, already bored. He stared at her again, noticing her eyes once more, the enormity of them. He could drown in those.

"What kind of person doesn't care about that?" she continued, her voice scratchy, her wide eyes now brimming with tears that were threatening to spill. "It just got me thinking…what if it was my mother in there, lying dead in a hospital in an unknown city? Would I care…"

Her voice was shaking now, and she looked up at him finally, almost with desperation.

"Would I care?"

Was he supposed to answer that for her? He had no idea what on Earth was going on with her twisted family. He found himself growing angry at her now- what the hell was she doing, starting this absurd, self obsessed downward spiral already?

"Course you God damn would." He spat at her, and she didn't flinch again, apparently hoping for this kind of bitter response. Well if that's what she wanted he'd damn well give it to her.

"Doesn't matter if you hate 'em or not, if it's you're mom, your brother, your sister. If they're laying down there knocking on death's door you'll find yourself praying every night, that you'd said sorry, that you'd made it right, that they'll _pull through_. You'll care. Trust me."

His rant sounded slurred to his own ears, and he blinked. She was nodding, and to his shock she looked somewhat relieved.

"Thanks." She said sincerely. "Thank you."

Rage suddenly and inexplicably consumed him, and he realized how drunk he was.

"Listen Barbie." He barked, rising from his seat and only stumbling slightly as he came close to her. She stared into his eyes as he moved his faced close to hers. "Don't you dare go your whole life letting people like me tell you how to feel. People like you make me_ sick_. You're desperate for approval, desperate for someone to yell orders at you. You don't know what you want, you don't know how to get it and it drives me insane, the same stupid interns year in year out. You're a _doctor God dammit!_ And a good one! And you're sitting here like you've gone through all the hell life could possibly put you through! Well I've got news for you sweetheart, it gets a whole lot worse. So either toughen up _right now_, or crawl over there on the floor and cry into your coffee. But don't you dare expect _me_ to help you back up."

She swallowed, shaken, and his breathing was heavy as he glared hard at her.

"Hey buddy." the Barman suddenly said, butting in. "Back off, O.K?"

"I know her." He said, as if that made it perfectly fine. Which it did.

"It's fine." Elliot said, not tearing her eyes away from his own. "I'm leaving anyway."

"Course you are. Couldn't last in here five minutes." He said quietly, smiling cruelly at her. She looked mildly disturbed but stood up anyway, summoning the strength to glare at him.

"You're drunk." She stated for no reason whatsoever.

"No_ shit_." He spat, stumbling towards her again. She quickly placed her hands on his shoulders to stop him falling.

"You have to be back at work in four hours."

"_Fantastic_…"

She huffed and blinked rapidly, apparently hurt. _Good_.

"I better drive you home…" she sighed, as if the thought of doing such an act was causing her some sort of pain. "I don't know why I'm helping you…" she then murmured, almost to herself. He was livid by this point.

"I don't need your _help!_" he almost yelled, barging past her. "You're the one that came down here, asking _me_ for help with your pathetic excuse of a life!"

He yanked the door open fiercely, causing it to swing rapidly on it's rusting hinges, before stepping out into the chilling night air. He breathed it in and it froze his lungs, the sensation leaving him slightly breathless.

Irritatingly, Elliot followed him out.

"Where's your car?" she asked, breathing in shakily and trying to keep it together.

"You're not _touching_ my car." He spat, already walking down the dark, lamp-lit street towards his beloved Porsche.

"Well you are in no fit state to drive." She bit back with force. "And I don't want my first patient tomorrow to be the guy that's suppose to be _teaching me_."

He made an obscene hand gesture over his shoulder, not turning to look at her reaction, before fumbling around his pockets searching for his keys. He could feel himself swaying and had to lean on the car, before finally finding them. He held them up in front of him and stared at them intently for a moment, seeing double and feeling ill.

"Come on." Elliot snapped, snatching the keys from his hands and shoving him aside, opening the door and sitting in the drivers seat.

For a moment, he was too shocked to do anything.

"_Hey!_"

"Get in, unless you wanna walk three miles and probably wake up in the middle of the road when the sun comes up."

Fuming, he struggled for a reply, unable to see past her undeniable logic. He was ridiculously drunk, and looking at Elliot sitting there in his car…_his car_…he had the urge to punch something. He'd_ never_ hated her more.

Aggressively, he fell into the passengers seat and slammed the door in rage, forgetting for a moment that it was his own car he was potentially damaging. Elliot seemed to notice because she smirked slightly before starting the car up. She was annoyingly precise about the whole thing, checking each mirror, slowly putting on her seatbelt, adjusting the seat-

"So help me God, Barbie, _DRIVE!"_

She jumped slightly, before letting out a wobbling breath and turned the keys, the car making a soothing roar. Smoothly, she pulled out of the awkward position that he'd parked in and they were eventually on the road.

He turned towards the side window, leaning his head on his hand and closing his eyes, the journey already making him feel slightly ill. He was proud of himself in a twisted way, as he hadn't lashed out yet. Trying to keep his breathing steady, he could literally feel the anger bubbling and frothing somewhere within him. He chanced a glance at the designated driver, whose knuckles were white clutching the steering wheel, her eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead of her. The lights whizzing past them gave the whole experience a surreal air, and for the first time he wondered if he would even remember this when he woke with the hangover from hell.

"Left." He murmured as they neared a road he knew, and she did as she was told.

Always doing as she was told_. She'd do anything if he asked it of her_.

He found himself smirking.

"Keep going, it's the last block on the right." His voice slurred even more, and he looked at the clock on the dashboard.

2:18.

"This it?"

Her voice sounded hesitant, as if she thought getting this wrong would result in her suspension.

"Yeah." He sighed, then groaned slightly in his drunken state, staring at the roof of his car as she pulled up beside his apartment block and the engine came to a halt.

Silence.

It was awkward to say the least. She was obviously waiting for him to say thanks and there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

"How you getting home?" he asked, not able to bear it any longer.

"I…" she faltered, apparently she hadn't thought this far. "I'll call a cab, I don't know."

Her voice sounded tiny, vulnerable, and she slowly took her hands off the wheel and stared into her lap, making no attempt to leave the vehicle.

"I didn't follow you, you know." She suddenly said, turning to look at him. She held his gaze, almost captivating him, her eyes once again giving him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were sparkling in the light from the street lamp, huge and shining with tears.

Beautiful.

"What?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"I knew that's what you must have thought…I just…I mean…it was just a coincidence."

She was trying to explain herself to him, when there was no need. He let her continue, though, for some reason fascinated with what she had to say. He must have been truly drunk because he could barely focus, only concentrating on the movement of her lips.

"I never go to those sort of places. I just…I wanted to do something, anything, and I couldn't face my house alone. I'd had an awful day..."

She swallowed, rubbing her eyes. Maybe through tiredness.

"And then, out of all the bars in the city, I go to the same one as_ you!"_she almost laughed. "The last person I wanted to see…"

Her last statement was quiet, and he wondered why she was suddenly blushing. He noticed that the colour suited her, he was used to seeing her against stark, pale hospital walls, maybe splattered in blood or vomit or some other substance, marching through the day. She was just another scruff of an intern, another infantile, blond _stick_, doomed to always walk in the shadow of her peers, of her friends, of himself.

He wanted to kiss her.

The thought shocked him, but he was too drunk to register this, because all he could think about now was the fact that _she'd do anything if he asked it of her_.

She sighed, unsure what to do now. She should have left. Maybe she was scared about venturing out there in the dark alley on her own at 2am, maybe she was tired. Maybe she wanted to stay with him.

The thought pleased him more than he would have liked.

"What are you doing here, Elliot?" he said, having the powerful urge to totally and completely destroy her innocence, and reveling in the knowledge that he was in a position to do so.

He used her name and that shocked her immensely, because she stared at him. Really stared, like she couldn't believe what he'd said, a small half-smile on her face.

"I don't know." She confessed in a strained whisper, on the verge of tears. "I don't know."

He smirked at her.

"You never will." He told her. He should leave, but he didn't want to. He wanted to mess with her mind, destroy her, completely _pulverize_ her good nature, her purity, leave her a mess when he was through, leave her with nothing but his image burned inside her head. He was slightly concerned he was having these really rather demented thoughts, but she was there, sat there in front of him within touching distance, looking kissable, looking distraught. He just wanted to…_use her_.

He was so drunk.

She was staring at him, and then he knew she didn't want to leave. Glancing at him all day, driving him home, the fact that she'd do anything if he asked it of her. With an ego the size of his own, he came to the natural conclusion that she was obviously in love with him.

"I should go." She said quietly, not tearing her eyes away from him, making no movement.

"You don't want to though, do you?" he whispered, and he realized they'd somehow moved closer to each other, there faces a few inches apart. He could smell alcohol on her breath, or maybe it was his own breath.

Tears had spilled from her eyes, and she sniffed.

"Tell me what to do…" she whispered, almost unheard. It was so silent now, no sirens, no cars, just their breathing. "Please just _tell me what to do_."

If he remembered anything at all from this evening, it would be those words.

When he kissed her, the first thing he noticed was the taste. It wasn't scotch, which was what he was expecting, something sweeter. Maybe it was the makeup she sometimes used, maybe it was just her natural scent…it was good, whatever the hell it was.

Not surprisingly, she made no protests, and gasped when their lips met. He briefly wondered if she'd planned the whole thing, considering she was obviously in love with him. He kissed her harder, groaning slightly, pressing her up against the car door as much as he could.

As he went for her neck, she let out some words he could barely comprehend.

"I…" she began, pulling his head up so she could quickly kiss him on the lips. "I love-"

He cut her off, placing his thumbs over her mouth and glaring at her. The sound of her irritating voice had marginally thrown him back into reality, thrown him back into the hospital, but he didn't want to be there. Not now.

"Don't say a word." He almost growled. "Don't talk."

She nodded slightly, like he'd just told her to retrieve a patient's chart.

"O.K." She said, breathlessly.

She did everything he asked of her after that, without question. Without hesitation.


End file.
